


Backlit

by a_loquita



Category: Stargate: SG-1
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-14
Updated: 2010-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_loquita/pseuds/a_loquita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she really does have a future, what the hell is she doing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backlit

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you mrspollifax for your beta work :)

Carter turns 43 years old on day 6 of a 14-day run to P98-007 aboard the _General Hammond_. The only events that mark the occasion are the little note Daniel must have stuffed into her pack before she left, a cheerful "Happy Birthday, Ma'am" from her second over a morning cup of coffee, and a long stare at herself in the mirror after she washes her face before bed. It's not like she expected more.

She thinks that she's not a particularly vain woman, not overly concerned with her looks, but she does wear lipstick on missions. Tonight, in the harsh florescent lights, she's sure there are more wrinkles than were there yesterday. She wonders if anyone bothers to notice. Then she mentally scratches that out and edits. She wonders if one particular man looks at her and still sees the youth and innocence she once wore on her face or if he notices the changes.

General O'Neill is strangely silent on this years' occasion, but then, she never clued him in to the importance of this particular one. Not that it was intentional; she doesn't think that it's ever really come up. And as much as his powers of reading her subtlety are good, she could never expect them to be _this_ good. After all, it's not even a "big" birthday like it will be in seven years time.

As she shuts off the light in the bathroom, she thinks about how it will feel to wake up tomorrow morning, on the day when she will officially begin to outlive her mother. She can't think of any words that could be used to describe the feelings that well up inside. But weird, weird is definitely a part of it.

It's a feeling she's sure most aging soldiers stumble across at some point– that there was a part of her that honestly believed she'd never live to grow old, and that part has to learn to accept the possibility now. How does one go about reprogramming all those years of faith in something that fatalistic?

She crosses the room in only a few steps and sinks into her narrow bed; it's been a long day, even if it hadn't been a particularly adventurous one. But as worn out as her body is, it's clear to her that her mind is nowhere near ready to shut down for the night. She lays there considering her options, and none of the obvious ones appeal; reading a book, wandering down to the mess, finding an empty lab somewhere and something to fiddle with.

A flash of inspiration strikes but she immediately reprimands herself for having the idea, even in passing. She sighs and rolls on her side, determined to shut her eyes and force her brain to be quiet. But the idea continues to nibble. It is her birthday after all, a voice inside coaxes, couldn't hurt just this once.

Sam sits up and scrubs her hands over her face. This is crazy, she tells herself, even as she reaches over to the bedside table and grabs her laptop. She doesn't even turn on the light, and really, that should tell her everything she needs to know about her state of mind right now and why it's a bad, bad, _bad_ idea to be calling Washington late at night. She has the ability, of course, as do all those posted in field positions that report directly to him. But she's never used it before outside of the bridge of her ship.

What's she so afraid of? That voice is back, and it's evolving to sound eerily similar to a certain chief medical officer who has been gone for many years now.

Sam takes a breath and opens her computer. A few passwords and clicks of the "enter" button later, she sees part of O'Neill's chin and then part of a gray t-shirt appears in a window on her screen.

"This better be good," he says, adjusting the screen and then blinking into the camera properly. "As in major death and destruction good…." He trails off, then, "Carter?"

"Yes, sir." She sits up straighter. "No death, no destruction."

"Oh." He looks confused, and still half-asleep, and adorably disheveled. But she clamps down hard on that last part. He asks, "Where are you?"

She can't imagine that he's that out of it, even if she has just awoken him, but she answers anyway, "The _Hammond_ , sir." She takes a breath and starts on her apologies and excuses, hoping something will pop into her brain to explain away why she's using a very secure, very expensive, and really-only-allowed-for-emergencies method of communicating with him, but he interrupts after she's only gotten out: "I just wanted to—"

"What happened? Did your power go out?"

Suddenly she remembers that she never switched on a light, so he's probably seeing something that looks like she's starring in an episode of Ghost Hunters right now. "Oh, sorry." She leans over and switches on the lamp. There's a noticeable change in his demeanor. She assumes it has to do with realizing she's in her PJs and in her private quarters.

"Carter…?" A healthy dose of concern mixed with I-hope-you're-not-some-freaky-AU-version-of-yourself comes through loud and clear in his tone.

Her mind races around about a dozen different things she wants to say but doesn't know where to begin. She settles on, "I just wanted to talk."

"You do?" The surprise bothers her. They talk, don't they? But then, never like this, so he has a point. He clears his throat a little. "I mean, sure. Talk away."

She can't help but smile at that. But there's the fact that she has to start talking. She considers leading into things with "I had a nice birthday" or an almost but not quite insubordinate "I'm sure my card is in the mail, sir." Nope. What comes out of her mouth surprises even her.

"I think that I want to retire."

Wait, what? Where did that come from?

The shock on his face is without doubt mirrored on her own. But that elusive thing that's been bothering her all day solidified the moment the words were out of her mouth. If she really does have a future, what the hell is she doing? That quiet, carefully worded invitation he gave her five years ago on a dock in Minnesota comes flooding back, and with it, the threat of tears.

"Carter, I'm just gonna ask this to, ya know, rule it out before we move on." The crease between his eyebrows grows deeper. "Are you on some kind of super space alien drugs or something?"

"No, sir, I…" She swallows back a lump in her throat. "I'm fine."

And he must recognize suddenly that she's fighting back tears, because his tone changes. "Sam."

Her heart swells at the sound. He's been doing that a lot more recently, calling her "Sam," and it shouldn't affect her. But any lingering traces of doubt that the invitation from five years ago isn't still an open invite vanishes.

"I'm thinking about retiring when my commission comes up next," she repeats, this time with confidence.

"That would be a major blow to the program, Carter."

Of course he has to do that. He must be her commanding office first and foremost, almost like getting it out of the way. "Thank you, sir."

But the implications she's sure he's most interested in are coming next. They are both in or they are both out; it was always unspoken, but that was the agreement, because neither could handle the not knowing. Plus, there would always be the fear of guilt or resentment, and that fear would be there no matter which one of them left for the other one.

She suddenly feels very small and this conversation with him seems to become even more intimate. She puts the laptop on the bedside table—more of a ledge really—and curls her legs up and wraps one arm around them, setting her chin on her knees. "My parents used to talk about all the things they'd do in their retirement together."

"Is this because it's your birthday?" Jack's face softens, and she knows that his powers of reading her are kicking in. "Because you've still got a lot of years before you catch up to me."

"You know, I've long suspected that you're going backwards in age, sir."

His lips lift up into a crooked smile. "It's not as difficult as you might think."

It all starts to fall into place the more she thinks about it. Things are good right now, and if she doesn't leave before the next Big Thing comes along she may never get out. And she'll end up like her mother, killed in some senseless way; or like her father, living the reminder of his life wondering about all the "what ifs." Neither of them would have wanted that for their daughter, and she doesn't want it for herself.

It's also way past the time that she should have said certain things to him. Things he knows, but deserves to hear at last. Things she can't tell him until he joins her.

"I was hoping that I wouldn't be doing it alone." She watches the play of emotions on his face. He's choosing his words carefully, and he's still not totally convinced that she's not on drugs or something.

"Are you sure, Carter?" She knows he's thinking about how she might get bored from time to time, but she believes she'll find plenty to keep her busy—possibly finally get around to writing up some research or do some consulting work for a university somewhere. Universities in Minnesota have physics departments, right?

He's thinking about how she'll miss the Stargate, but she really hasn't been going through it much these last several years anyway and what lies ahead in her military career, as it has with his, is only moving further and further away from the gate.

He's worried that she'll regret this, wondering if in a few years she'll feel it was worth it, and concerned that the transition from an adrenaline-filled, awe-inspiring, kick-ass job to retired life will be incredibly difficult. But she knows the answer to all of it is simple. She even uses his own words.

"It's not as difficult as you might think."

He lets out a puff of breath. Relief? She's not sure. This conversation is already way more direct than the one they'd had on the team trip to his cabin following her father's death, that one only had an implied "I'll wait for you, Carter, whenever you're ready" element.

She's more than ready. She has been for a while now, but she just hadn't realized it.

"You know, Carter, I have to say this all sounds a bit sudden." Five years later is sudden? He has to be joking. "I'm not sure I ever got chance to buy that second fishing pole."

Ah, he is joking. She grins again, and he smirks back at her. It feels pretty good.

"So," she says.

"So," he replies. "You'll be back in, what? Ten days?"

"Give or take."

"And we can… talk," he finally finishes. "When you get back."

"Talking's good."

"It's growing on me." And she really cannot help that her smile grows even bigger.

He rubs a hand through his hair, and she's reminded that she woke him up in the dead of night. So they stumble through good-byes that are almost the same as they were yesterday, but not how she's ever bid her CO goodnight before. They probably sound like a couple of unsure teenagers bumbling to get it right. But they'll figure it out

"And Carter." He catches her just in time, before she clicked the off button.

"Yes?"

"Happy Birthday."

She smiles. It's the best she's ever had.


End file.
